Majestic cup match


(Suicide Scaffold match)

Ghetto fire or Matt Strikmore will have to take the plunge from the scaffold if they want to win this match and advance in the Majestic Cup.

(Stipulations: The ways you can win is by either throwing your opponent off of the structure (which is suspended twenty feet above the ring or the hard/easy route; jump and you must land on a pile of tumbtacks outside of the ring.....if you miss you automatically lose)

I don't like the drugs but the drugs like me
I don't like the drugs, the drugs, the drugs

For the previous statement to be true about the leader of Ghetto Grass please use the following formula:

I <strike>don't</strike> like the drugs <strike>but</strike>(insert- and) the drugs like me
I <strike>don't</strike> like the drugs, the drugs, the drugs

Oh yes Ghetto Fire was loaded off of his rocker.

But his system was so accustomed to 'the stuff', that he could still do things as usual.

That doesn't mean that his eyes didn't get bloodshot red, he still couldn't fight the sudden urge to eat some BK, maybe even some Taco Bell.

And his vocab was more f'ed up the canal than ever.

So yeah now that I'm done explaining Ghetto Fire's bodily actions towards drugs and stuff, let's cut to the cheese.

Ghetto Fire had gotten out of the X-Press to sit in the Ghettonda by himself and read over the card for the upcoming Havoc.

He liked the stip. He's a hardcore wrestler. But there was a sane part that was like "dude this match has the word 'sucide' in it!"

Heh heh, Emo-boy Acolyte would be good at that match........ Oh wait I need to grow up. Nevermind....

But Ghetto's opponent, he'd never heard of him before the last show, Mista Strikmore.

Reminds him of Matt Striker.

But about a thousand times cooler.

And tougher.

Maybe Ghetto will find a Taco and slurpee.

He puts the keys in the ignition and he's off.

I'll bet you ten bucks this next post is a meeting between the two.

I might lose that bet....

Who knows~?

(OOC:Sorry for the shortness Matt meng, wanted to get the ball rolling for you.)

Strikmore: I'm a grown man, and I feel like I'm heading to the principal's office for talking during class.

*Matt counts the doors as he walks along the upper levels of the arena. He had made an appointment to speak with Commissioner Stern, but only gave him about three minutes. Hard to get away with being late to a three minute meeting without missing a paycheck. At least, that's the rumours he'd heard about the new boss. No small talk, just business. A by the book and for the numbers person. Matt? Not so much. He'd have to keep his casual and rambling speaking in check. For three minutes at least. Matt finds the door, and checks his watch. Five seconds to spare. Breath check, take off the hat, and knock.*

Stern: Come in.

*Pushing the door open, Matt peaks his head in before the rest of his body follows.*

Strikmore: Thanks for seeing me Commissioner. I know you're a busy guy..woman..person.

*Smooth...*

Strikmore: Sorry. I just needed to speak with you about something ever so briefly.

*Stern looks at him for a few seconds. Her dog, Blackjack, does the same. Like master like beast.*

Stern: Make this quick. I have alot left on my schedule for today.

Strikmore: Of course. See, I just have a few concerns about my match this week.

Stern: Strikmore... you have the "Suicide Scaffold Match", correct?

Strikmore: That's right.

Stern: Brilliant idea. Fans will go crazy for it.

Strikmore: Oh yeah, they'll pop huge.

Stern: Then what seems to be the issue here.

Strikmore: Well, see, I'm recently signed to TCW. A six match evaluation contract, actually, and this here is match number three. I was scouted based on my techincal ability, and I really haven't gotten a chance to show that. I understand that the tourney has been killing in ratings, and that's great. It really is. It's just that these matches have been pretty stipulation heavy, and I haven't had a chance to show where I excell.

Stern: And you feel you can't get across your value to the company in this type of match?

Strikmore: Exactly!

Stern: The match stands, Mr. Strikmore. If you can't adapt, you can find some county fair where you can pander your craft, one Four-H club at a time.

Stikmore: That's not what-

Stern: Further more, if you ever question my booking practices again, it will weigh that much more heavily on your evaluation.

Strikmore: But I'm not being put in a wrestling match! This is televised manslaughter!

Stern: I assure you we are breaking no legal boundries.

Strikmore: But how does me throwing someone off a twenty foot scaffold prove that I can wrestle!

Stern: It proves that you're a team player. Someone we can put in various situations. You will participate in this match. Are we clear?

*Matt looks off to the side. He can hear the dog growling softly. Without looking at Stern, he gives a flat answer.*

Strikmore: I'll fulfill my contractual obligation.

Stern: You'll participate in the match.

*Turning to Stern, and looking her eye to eye.*

Strikmore: I'll fulfill my contractual obligation. To the letter.

*There's a few moments of uneasy silence.*

Stern: Your three minutes are up.

Strikmore: Thanks for your time.

*Matt puts his hat on while still facing Stern, nods his head, and heads out the door. Once out of earshot, he can't help but talk to himself.*

Strikmore: Man, I've had better times being on the wrong end of a mugging.

*Matt stops by a window, looking out on the city. He talks to himself in a low voice.*

Strikmore: Well, I'm not really certain what she took away from that. Either way, I put myself on the map with her. Just a matter of where I got placed. In the ring, or at a bustop.

Strikmore; Ooh! 7-11! Slurpee.

*Ten minutes later, we find ourselves in the local 7-11. World-round, these all the look the same. Smell pretty similar too. Refridgeration, overcooked meat, and nacho cheese. And then there's the lure of sugar junkies everywhere. The churning of the Slurpee machine. Matt grabs a copy of Muscle & Fitness, and bee-lines for the Slurpee machine. He gets held up by someone standing in front of the machine, watching the Orange Crush vat turn and turn. His right hand is stained orange, his left hand holding a large bag of Cheetos. Every once in a while, the guy will smirk and laugh a little bit. Matt chuckles and reaches for the cups, but turns back once he realizes he's seen the guy before, just not in person.*

Stirkmore: Ghetto?

Ghetto: Yeah?

Strikmore: Hi, I'm Matt. Matt Strikmore.

Ghetto: Hi Matt. Matt Strikmore.

*Ghetto never once breaks his gaze on the machine.*

Strikmore: Slurpee?

Ghetto: No, not yet.

Strikmore: Why not?

Ghetto: It's not ready.

Strikmore: The lights off.

Ghetto: Doesn't mean it's ready.

Strikmore: Then how do you know?

Ghetto: I just. Know.

Strikmore: Mind if I cut in front then?

Ghetto: You getting Orange?

Strikmore: No.

Ghetto: Then sure.

*Matt fills up his cup. Lid on first. He's a pro.*

Strikmore: So what brings you here.

Ghetto: I found ten dollars.

Strikmore: So you spent it on Cheetos and, eventually, Slurpee?

Ghetto: No. Got this too.

*Ghetto holds out a small bottle of Visine. Matt laughs. Ghetto smiles slightly.*

Ghetto: Gotta look my best.

Strikmore: Any special reason?

Ghetto: I gotta meet the lady.

Strikmore: Stern?

Ghetto: Yeah. Stern. Thanks.

Strikmore: You make an appointment?

Ghetto: Nah. It'll be cool.

Strikmore: Better than mine, I hope.

Ghetto: Yeah. Yeah, it will be.

*No one talks for a minute. There's a slight whisper of music in the background.*

Ghetto: Slurpee.

Strikmore: Enjoy.

Ghetto: You should have waited man. This is awesome.

Strikmore: I'll be sure to ask you advice next time. I'm heading back to the arena, wanna come with? I'm heading to the locker room anyway.

Ghetto: Sure. How'd your meeting go?

Strikmore: Could of gone better. I gotta say, her dog kind of freaked me out.

*Ghetto freezes in his step.*

Ghetto: Dog?

Strikmore: Yeah.

Ghetto: German shepard?

Strikmore: Nah.

Ghetto: Cool.

*The two walk off toward the arena, walking further away from the camera. We can only barely make out the last bit of conversation.*

Ghetto: Hey. What flavor did you get?

Strikmore: Blue.

Ghetto: Blue is good.

Strikmore: Yeah.

Ghetto looked out of the skybox to the empty arena seats.

Valerie: Would you mind taking a seat Mr. Fire.

It was a statement not a question.

Ghetto: Oh sorry.

Valerie: You have three minutes, starting now.

Ghetto: OK.

...................................

Valerie: Is there a reason that you came here?

Ghetto: To discuss my upcoming match stip.

Valerie: Ah yes the other competitor in the Suicide Scaffold match.

Ghetto: Yeah, I kinda sort of don't like that stipulation.

Valerie: Why not? I know you have an extensive background in hardcore matches.

Ghetto: Yeah but this just seems nasty man, like I'd be more willing than a two dollar hooker if I disliked Strikmore....but I don't he's a cool brother.

Valerie: Well it's not my problem how you feel about people is it?

Ghetto: Well I guess so.....

Valerie: Have a good entertaining match.

Ghetto: But I, uh-....

Before Ghetto can continue his statement Blackjack tells him to shut up with a few nasty barks.

Ghetto: Nice talking with you Ms. Stern, later.

Ghetto then runs faster than a cat towards a nice pile of catnip.

He sprints all the way down to the first row of the seats in the arena in which he spots a familiar face.

Ghetto: Matt, hey long time no see.

Matt: Hey.

Apparently Strikmore had decided to make his way out to the ring.

Matt: You're meeting go ok?

Ghetto: Well, uh it didn't accomplish anything really.

Matt: Aw, that's too bad....say I got an idea.

Ghetto: Shoot.

Matt pulls out a pop gun and shoots it in the air.

Ghetto: That was funny.

Matt: Anyway my idea is that right here and right now, since we won't have a chance later on, we have a real wrestling match.

Ghetto: Okey dokey.

The two then go onto have the best sparring wrestling match in the world.

Too bad no one saw it.